


Five Christmases

by rabidchild67



Series: Five Times... [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Christmas, El really likes the decorating, Multi, No really it's one of those things, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-01-18
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:02:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Christmases Neal spent with the Burkes.</p>
<p>Originally published in 2010, so much has been Jossed</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Christmases

**2009**

The first Christmas Neal spent with the Burkes, he was unfortunately incarcerated. It was shortly after Kate’s death, and he had been sent back to prison until the mess with Fowler was sorted. Despite the trying circumstances, he remembers that Christmas very fondly.

Peter and Elizabeth came to visit early on Christmas Eve, and Peter used his Bureau connections to secure them a private trailer that was generally reserved for conjugal visits. Neal appreciated the gesture, because it meant he could let his guard down completely, abandon the defenses he’d put up while he was back inside if only for the moment.

They did not talk about Neal’s “situation” nor did they discuss the tragedy of Kate’s murder. They treated the visit for what it was, simply, three friends having a holiday dinner under less-than-ideal circumstances.

Neal sat himself at the modular table in the kitchenette of the trailer, Elizabeth across from him and Peter in one of the “captain’s chairs” along the far wall. Elizabeth had brought a shopping bag filled with goodies from Zabar’s, which she began to unpack. Neal watched her gratefully; prison food was, as advertised, among the worst on offer in the Western world.

El handed out plates laden with roasted chicken, curried couscous, green beans and tossed salad. Neal reckoned it had been three weeks since his last fresh vegetable and he hoped whatever deity existed on this earth would bless El for bringing this bounty to his door.

They ate, made senseless chit-chat, and El handed out plastic flutes filled with sparkling cider (wine and other alcoholic beverages were not allowed), laughing over the latest political scandals plaguing the current mayor’s administration. Neal was grateful for the diversion, but eventually, things were bound to get serious.

Elizabeth grabbed his wrist impulsively at one point and locked her eyes on Neal’s. “How are you holding up, honey?”

Neal smiled and answered truthfully; there was no other option when confronted with Elizabeth Burke’s laser-like gaze. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. I excel at compartmentalizing.”

“Good,” she replied, squeezing his hand, imbuing that word with all the empathy she was feeling, and Neal loved her just a little bit more for it.

“Tell me all about the team, Peter,” Neal said, deftly changing the subject. “What fascinating cases have I been missing out on?”

“Couple of embezzlement schemes, nothing too sexy,” Peter answered with a forced smile. He was worried for Neal and it showed. And there was something else, Neal suspected, some detail Peter was leaving out but he didn’t want to ask. His cell phone buzzed and he took it from his pocket. “It’s Diana.” He glanced at El. “I have to take this.” She squeezed his hand and he left the trailer to take the call.

“Something’s wrong,” Neal said. “What is it?”

Elizabeth looked at Neal with a mirthless smile. She could never lie to him. “Peter’s been suspended pending the investigation into this Fowler business.”

“What? This just gets better and better.”

She took both his hands in hers and fixed him with a determined stare. “He didn’t want to worry you about it, sweetie. You’ve been through enough.”

“But he – “ Neal sat back, but Elizabeth held firmly onto his hands and pulled him forwards.

“Shhh, what’s done is done. He’s waiting to hear about a disciplinary hearing – that could be why Diana’s calling. Then he’s going to work at getting you out of here.”

“El, he shouldn’t – “

“He should. He wants to. Neal, he’ll fix it, he always does. Let him?”

Neal smiled. “OK.”

“Now, I’ve got a Bûche de Noël in that other bag over there, and if you can stand it…” she turned to retrieve her purse and pulled out a box about seven inches by three, wrapped in beautiful silver paper and deep crimson ribbon. “Presents!”

Neal blinked back sudden tears and El beamed at him, pressing the box into his hands. “Unwrap it quickly – Peter can’t see this.”

Neal grinned at her subterfuge and slid the ribbon off of the package. Under the wrappings was an elegant black jeweler’s box. He opened it up and lying on the felt inside was what appeared to be a silver pocket knife, its large handle inlaid with mother of pearl. He picked it up and marveled at the handiwork, the subtle touches only a forger’s eye would notice. “It’s beautiful, Elizabeth.”

“Open it up.”

He turned it around in his hands and pulled at a small metal clasp at one end and it opened easily. But what popped out was not a blade. “Lock picks!” Neal exclaimed happily. He grinned at her and began inspecting them, removing each from its housing, mentally calculating that all the ones he most commonly used were there. “Thank you.” He leaned across the table and kissed her on the cheek. “How did you ever smuggle this in here?”

 “Well, turns out they don’t tend to frisk FBI agents’ wives, though they should really consider it in the future… Anyway, hand it back – I’ll keep it for you until you’re out.” He put it back in its box and she slipped it back in her purse just as Peter was opening the trailer’s door.

When he returned to his cell a few hours later, Neal reveled in the memories of the evening, a pleasant interlude to ease his troubled thoughts. He was extremely thankful for such good and loyal friends, and touched beyond words by the visit and El’s gift. He hoped he had many more such happy Christmases to share with them.

**2010**

Peter opened the door and regarded Neal with a slightly exasperated and put-upon expression. “Didja bring it?”

Neal held up a paper bag-enrobed bottle of cognac and stepped inside. “Why the urgency?” He handed Peter the bag and removed his coat and gloves.

Peter glanced back over his shoulder and back at Neal, a little nervous. “Needed it for the egg nog. I forgot to pick it up last night.” Neal gave him a curious look and walked past him into the living room. The sight that welcomed him both frightened and fascinated him.

The formerly tastefully-appointed Burke home looked as if the North Pole had regurgitated its contents about the place. The dining room bookcase had been completely stripped, its intellectual contents replaced by a tiny, snow-bedecked Christmas village, complete with tiny post office, church, diner, candy shoppe (Neal noted the spelling of the word shoppe with detached amusement), houses, cottages, and even a tiny auto repair shop (not “shoppe,” also noted). The Burkes’ paintings had been swapped for lithographs of snowmen and Santa Claus. A 12 Days of Christmas throw adorned the couch, and the crown molding around the room was festooned with pine roping and twinkle lights. In the front window, a tree stood half-decorated with lights, and beside it, nearly the entire cast of the Nutcracker lay in disarray, waiting to be deployed.

“Umm…” Neal began.

 “There’s even Christmas bedding upstairs!” Peter said, sotto voce, as he moved into the kitchen to stow away the cognac. Neal couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter.

“Oh good, you’re here,” a familiar voice greeted Neal. “Can you hand me that packet of Command Hooks?”

Neal glanced over at the fireplace, surprised to find Mozzie had entered, dressed in a red wool sweater with a white snowflake pattern, a handful of Christmas stockings in hand. Neal retrieved the pack from the coffee table and wordlessly handed it to him.   

Elizabeth entered through the back door, adjusting the wreath she’d just hung on it. “Neal,” she said happily. “Come to help us deck the halls?”

“I have come a-wassailing, yes,” he said, beaming at her. He went into the kitchen in search of Peter.

“Uh, wow,” Neal said, a broad grin on his face. He accepted a glass of red wine from Peter. Peter toasted him with the glass of bourbon he held in his other hand. He had clearly had a few prior to Neal’s arrival; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes a little unfocused.

“Yeah. Yeah, El loves Christmas.”

“I see that. And Mozzie?”

“Apparently, they are kindred spirits.”

“Explains the Snowbaby I found at my place. Wow, he, um, this is new.”

“He’s an onion.” They stood and drank in companionable silence.

El pushed through the door and gave them both the stink eye. “Come on, you two, those garlands aren’t going to string themselves, and I want to get the tree decorated tonight.” Neal glanced over and saw a bowl of cranberries, needles and a spool of clear nylon thread on the kitchen table. About a two-foot length of garland had been started; Peter looked sheepish.

“Let’s get to it,” Neal said, pulling out a chair and setting his wine glass down. He reached for a needle and the thread.

Peter took his seat and grabbed a few cranberries. “Have you considered using popcorn?” Neal began, an innocent expression on his face. “Might be good to break up the cranberries…”

“Not a word of this at the office,” Peter hissed, “or it’s back to supermax with you.”

“It’s in the vault.”

“Mind it stays there.”

“Seriously, popcorn’ll lend an air of rustic charm…”

**2013**

Neal sat in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames and reliving the events of the last few hours. 

It was Christmas Eve and, at Peter’s suggestion (wish? insistence?), the three of them were spending a romantic holiday in a ski cabin in Vermont, to get away from the city and to let El relax after a particularly busy Christmas season for Burke Premier Events. Neal suspected ulterior motives; Peter’s plan had the added bonus of avoiding the usual family hubbub and if it meant that El’s obsession with Christmas decorating was given a one-time pass, he wouldn’t object.

They had decided to open one present from each other on Christmas Eve, which had been El’s family tradition as a child. They sat on the floor, cross-legged like a bunch of kids in front of a Christmas tree that Peter had asked the resort to provide for them. He’d snuck back to the cabin while El and Neal skied on their first day and decorated it himself using her favorite ornaments. He couldn’t deprive her of _all_ the decorations, after all. When she saw it, Elizabeth was touched and thrilled, and promptly rearranged the ornaments to her satisfaction.

Elizabeth gave her gifts first, handing each man a small box and grinning widely as they opened them simultaneously. “Don Giovanni at the Met? Elizabeth!” Neal enthused.

Peter was no less excited “Yankees opening day? Honey!” Both men leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek at the same time, and she threw her arms around their necks, laughing delightedly.

Peter was next, handing them each a gift from behind his back like keeping them secret was all he lived for. Neal gave him an odd look – how unlike him to be this excited about gift-giving; Neal found it unbelievably endearing.  Peter’s gift to Elizabeth was an opal art nouveau cocktail ring. “Sweetie!” she exclaimed, placing it on her finger with shaking hands. Peter smiled. “It’s a reproduction. I’d never be able to afford the real one.”

“I love it,” she said and kissed him deeply.

Neal’s box contained a vintage 50’s tie bar made of silver and onyx, with a single “N” set into its center. “Peter, wow,” he said appreciatively, running his fingertips over its surface.

“El found it. I figure now you can have your own to wear instead of Byron’s.”

“I can’t wait. Thank you.” He grasped Peter’s hand and squeezed it with a smile. Then he got up and walked over to the desk at the far side of the room, reaching underneath to retrieve something that had been stowed behind it.

It was large and flat, and he presented it to them both. “I had it shipped up here so you wouldn’t see. From me to you.” He sat back down, watching them open it with not a little trepidation, gnawing at a thumbnail.

When she saw the painting, Elizabeth gasped, pulling it to herself so she could study it properly. It was a portrait of her and Peter in their bedroom, dressing. She sat at her dresser applying lipstick, her back to the observer but her face reflected in the mirror in front of her. She was looking at Peter, who stood in the closet doorway, tying a tie, his lips parted, as if answering a question. The picture’s POV was clearly from their bed. Neal had reproduced it from memory onto the canvas. The painting was an exquisite, photo realistic interpretation, the image so vibrant and yet intimate that it left El speechless for a good three minutes. There was a very boldly rendered “NC 2013” signed in the bottom right corner in white.

“You like it?” Neal asked shyly.

“Are you kidding? It’s amazing. Neal, it’s amazing. I have no other word. Honey?”

“Amazing,” Peter pronounced with a smile. He was deeply touched by the gift – a Neal Caffrey original, indeed a rare thing.

Elizabeth grabbed Neal’s hand and pulled him closer to her, kissing him deeply, her fingers ghosting lightly across his jaw. Peter leaned forward on his knees and put a hand on each of their shoulders and they parted and opened their arms to him in a three-way embrace. Elizabeth took turns kissing each of them. Neal’s hand came up to cup her breast and she sighed happily. He reached over and started to kiss Peter, who moaned appreciatively into Neal’s mouth, eliciting a smile from the younger man. Neal was about to suggest they adjourn to the bedroom when Elizabeth piped up with a, “Wait, wait. There’s one more.”

Neal groaned in protest, but Peter pulled away and the mood was broken. Elizabeth went over to the tree and retrieved a small box and presented it to Neal. “This is from both of us,” she said; Peter put his arm around her and they both looked at him expectantly.

Neal unwrapped the package and found a small black jewelry box inside. He popped that open and inside: “It’s a key.”

“To our house,” Peter said.

“We want you to move in,” Elizabeth added and they both nodded, smiling at him happily.

Neal didn’t know what to say. This was not what he expected at all so soon into their relationship – they’d been together only since the Spring. “I, um…”

Elizabeth’s face crumpled up with dismay. “Oh, it’s too soon, isn’t it? I told you it was too soon, Peter.”

“No, no, no, no no,” Neal protested. “It’s not. I mean, it’s just unexpected.”

Peter looked at him, his head cocked to the side and Neal could see disappointment there at Neal’s reaction, a hint of hurt. He wished he could tell him what he wanted to hear, but it was just not something he’d considered and, for perhaps the first time in his life, he didn’t want to rush into anything. “It’s OK,” Peter said, his voice soft, “if it’s too soon.”

That was five hours ago and though the rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, Neal couldn’t help but feel like he’d thrown water on a fire he didn’t necessarily want extinguished.

So he now sat staring moodily into the sputtering fire, fingering the small key and considering the options before him. On the one hand, he loved Elizabeth and Peter as he’d rarely loved other people in his life before. Perhaps only Kate had impacted his life as profoundly. So what had him so scared? 

He glanced over at the Christmas tree in the corner with its pile of presents and thought back to the last time he’d had one of his own. He was fifteen and mercifully unaware of the illness that was going to claim his mother within eight short months. It was perhaps the last time he felt safe and truly happy. He had never felt that way with Kate – their relationship having played out over the course of much of his criminal career – and he never thought he’d feel that way again. But being with Peter and Elizabeth had made him realize it was something he desperately wanted. He was just afraid it wouldn’t last and he’d be back to being alone again, and he wasn’t sure he could live through losing it again.

He could feel the familiar prickle of tears behind his eyes at the thought of his mother, of all the loved ones he’d lost. He missed them every day.

Neal suddenly felt arms encircle him and he turned his head. “Are you crying?” Elizabeth said as she slid into his lap.

“No. Maybe. Sorry.” He ducked his head. “Moments like these, they’re sometimes too much for me. I’m fine.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll think I’m being corny.”

“Probably,” El smiled. “Tell me anyway.”

“You and Peter…you’re family to me. Home. Safe. I haven’t really felt like that in a long time.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid of what will happen.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said, suddenly understanding. She put her hand on his face and looked into his eyes. “You know, this relationship has two other people in it. Don’t you think we could be a little scared too? This is uncharted territory here.”

“Yes, but –“

“But what? Life is taking risks, Neal. I would think of all people, _you’d_ be the most aware of that fact. But look, I get it. You’ve got a lot more to lose here, potentially, and I understand. Really, I do. Just know that Peter and I do not make this offer lightly or without serious consideration. We love you. It’s that simple.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and breathed a sigh, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

El could feel him relax. “Now come to bed.  We’re missing you.”

Peter turned over onto his back as El and Neal climbed into bed on either side of him and held his arms out to them. They each crawled into his embrace, El with her head on his shoulder, Neal throwing a leg over his, nuzzling the top of his foot against El’s leg. 

“This is more like it,” Peter said with a satisfied air. He kissed them both. “I’m sorry if we rushed things, Neal.”

“Please don’t be. It’s me, _my_ shit. Really. I don’t want anything to screw this up. _I_ don’t want to screw this up. But El has convinced me it’s worth the risk. I would love to move in with you.”

Peter grinned widely. “Then I’m glad I started converting the third floor guest room into a studio for you.”

Neal got up on his elbow and looked into his eyes. “You did that for me?” he asked, unbelievably touched. “How will I ever thank you?”

“If ever there was a loaded question! I’m sure I can come up with a few ideas.”

“I think I’m reading your mind,” Neal said, a seductive smile on his face as he kissed Peter.

**2014**

“Neal!”

Neal froze mid-step and used every ounce of self-control he had not to sigh heavily or roll his eyes. “Yes, Elizabeth?” he called.

“Can you help me with the thing? I can’t reach the thing!”

Neal trudged up the stairs for the umpteenth time that day, wondering what small errand he would be asked to perform. It was Christmas day and both Peter and Elizabeth had come down with a very nasty flu. Each suffered from fever, aches, cold symptoms – your basic nightmare – but where Peter endured with quiet stoicism, Elizabeth had devolved into a cranky, clingy mess, dismayed at how her body had betrayed her. She hated to be sick and it showed.

Normally, Neal would’ve found it adorable, but today was Christmas. He’d had to cancel on dinner at June's, a fact he found disappointing as he rarely saw her anymore since moving to Brooklyn. Added to that was the fact that Elizabeth’s fever stubbornly refused to go down, which had him concerned if not worried, and so he was more than a little distracted.

“Yes, my dear?”

El looked up at him from the depths of the bed, her face flushed and eyes bright. Her hair, tied on top of her head in a crooked pony, stuck out in odd directions, and Neal noted it seemed quite sweaty at the temples. He walked over to the bed and felt her forehead with the back of his hand. “What can I do for you?”

“The TV remote – I lost it.”

Neal gave her a put-upon look, but mounted a search for the missing remote just the same. He found it under the bed and handed it over. El clutched it to her chest like a teddy bear. Neal picked up a nearby thermometer and shoved it into her mouth. “Here. Suck it.”

Elizabeth did as she was told while Neal cleared a load of tissues away and went into the bathroom to refill her water glass. He read the thermometer when he returned. “102. Better, but not great. Here’s some more Tylenol.” He handed her two of the pills and watched as she swallowed them, then he straightened out the duvet around her, tucking it in around her legs. “Are you hungry?”

“No. Feel nauseous.”

“Aww. I’m sorry.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“How’s Peter?”

“The same as before.  I should go check on him. Call if you need anything, OK?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Try to get some sleep,” Neal added and left the room.

Peter was set up on the couch in the living room, buried under a pile of blankets and throws, shivering. Neal sank to his knees on the floor in front of him and ran his fingers over his face, feeling his forehead as he did so. “How ya doin’?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Cold. This sucks.”

Neal tsked sympathetically. “You’ll be better soon.”

“How’s El?”

“I think you know or else you wouldn’t have fled down here,” Neal pointed out.

He managed a smile. “She’s always the worst patient. Are we running you ragged?”

“I can take it.”

 “You may not want to,” Peter pointed out.

“It’s nice to be needed. I really don’t mind.” He was surprised to realize he meant it.

“Is this your worst Christmas ever?”

“Not by a longshot. There was this one year that Moz and I were holed up in an abandoned fishing shack in Lyon…”

“Neal!” Elizabeth called, her voice a bit panicked and followed by a loud thump and clatter that reverberated through the ceiling. Peter sat up abruptly – then sank down into his pillows as dizziness overtook him.

“I’ve got it,” Neal said and ran for the stairs.

He found Elizabeth sprawled on the floor, legs tangled in the bedding, trying weakly to extricate herself. “OK, this is interesting,” Neal began.

She craned her head around to look at him. “I had to go to the bathroom, and then…I tripped. Little help?”

Neal couldn’t suppress a smile. “Sure.” He stooped to the floor and put a hand under her shoulders to help her sit up.

“Stupid duvet,” she grumbled.

“It is cunning and faithless,” Neal agreed, flipping the covers from around Elizabeth’s legs with one fluid movement. She just kind of sat there. “You need some help getting up?”

“No,” she said sulkily. Neal grabbed an elbow anyway and El shook him off. “I can _do_ it,” she said, sounding exactly like a stubborn five-year old kid taking the training wheels off her first bicycle. She got shakily to her feet and straightened out her t-shirt, then headed for the bathroom. Neal took the opportunity to change the sheets; Peter and El being sick had left them less than appealing. He traded the duvet out for a pair of less-devious quilts and dumped the pile of dirty linens onto the floor in the hallway.

Elizabeth trudged back into the room and headed straight for the bed with a groan. Neal tucked the blankets around her and said, “OK, I’m going to go downstairs now. You just try not to kill yourself, all right?”

“Ha-ha.”

Neal smiled. “Don’t make me come back up here and give you a sponge bath.”

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

Neal actually laughed. He picked up the sheets and headed for the stairs.

“Neal?”

Neal backed up into the room. “Yes?”

“Thanks.”

He smiled. “Sure.” He headed for the stairs again.

“Neal?” Elizabeth called again.

He returned, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Likewise,” he said sincerely, and went downstairs to make them all lunch.

**2015**

Peter didn’t know how or why he thought it, but he was convinced Neal was in trouble again. The ex-conman had, to all appearances, remained “clean” for the last five years, but there was something strange about his behavior the last several weeks that got Peter’s Spidey senses tingling.

It was subtle at first. A cell phone call taken in private here, a laptop slammed shut a little too quickly there. But he really didn’t think much of it until he’d overheard the following exchange between Neal and Moz:

“Cut the crap, Moz. Can your guy get the thing or not?” Neal was on his mobile in the kitchen, voice pitched low. Peter had been in the front of the house hanging wreaths, and he suspected Neal didn’t know he’d re-entered their home.

There was a long pause as Moz spoke. “No, I need that specific one or it’s over. Yes…. That’s right, money is no object. I need it, can you get it for me? You know I’d never ask, if it weren’t for…It’s important, OK? Yes… Thanks, Moz.” He rang off and Peter took a few steps back toward the front door to pretend he’d just entered.

\----

A week later, Peter noticed a nervous-looking, pale young man hanging around near the counter of the diner where they were having lunch. The interaction was subtle, but to the trained eyes of the FBI agent, unmistakable.

“ _Hey, I’m here_ ,” the young man’s nod conveyed.

“ _You’re early_ ,” Neal’s raised eyebrow answered.

“ _I’m not hanging out here forever. Meet me outside_ ,” the young man communicated with a grimace and shake of the head.

“ _Fine. Give me a few_ ,” Neal blinked and looked at his lunch companion for emphasis. The young man left the diner.

Five minutes later, Neal remembered he had a meeting uptown and cut their lunch short. “Sorry Peter, but I’m thisclose to talking the Philadelphia Museum into lending us Nude Descending a Staircase for the cubism exhibit. I can’t pass this opportunity up. Are you mad?”

Peter tried not to look put upon. “No, not mad.” He was mad.

“Thanks, baby. I’ll make it up to you later.” Neal leaned forward, brushed his lips against Peter’s and picked up the check with one motion. He gave his best 1,000-watt smile and rushed up front to pay.

Peter watched him go, waiting all of two seconds before following him onto the street. He just caught a glimpse of the tail of Neal’s overcoat turning the corner and he quickened his step to catch up. He looked around the corner; Neal and the young man stood huddled behind a bus stop. Every few seconds, the wind carried their words to Peter’s ears. He ducked into the doorway of a juice bar and strained to hear.

“…can’t believe it…” Neal was angry. “…thought we had a deal?”

The young man glanced around nervously. “…don’t know….talk to…Fernandes.”

Neal’s reaction was one of annoyance. “…completely unprofessional…running out of time!” filtered down to Peter’s ears.

“Sorry!”

“…when…?”

That was the last Peter heard before a bus stopped at the corner. By the time it pulled away, Neal and the young man had both gone. “Neal, what are you getting yourself into?” he muttered, worry clouding his thoughts.

\----

Peter spent the rest of the week paying close attention to Neal’s behavior. As Neal’s partner, he had a right to be concerned if the younger man was about to risk his life or safety due to some remnant of his old life rearing its head. But as an FBI agent, he would have to have probable cause in order to pursue an investigation. In this case, the concerned lover persona won out, and when Neal canceled dinner plans suddenly with an excuse that he was meeting Mozzie for a drink, he decided to follow him.

He parked the Taurus on the corner opposite the Lampton, hunching down in his seat and watching the door. At around 6:00, Neal emerged and hailed a cab. Peter followed at the distance proscribed by the FBI field manual, and was able to keep the cab in sight until it discharged its passenger on a side street near South Street Seaport. Peter double parked and ditched the car, jogging across the street to keep Neal in sight. He saw him duck down an alley behind a restaurant, entering through the kitchen. Peter creeped up the alley to peer in through the back door, spotted Neal talking with a large Hispanic man in a hairnet and apron, his arms covered in prison tats. Peter ducked back so the two of them couldn’t see him.

He eased his head in through the doorway when he dared, and caught a glimpse of Neal giving the man a sheaf of bills in exchange for a small package wrapped in tissue paper. Neal shook the man’s hand and slipped the item into his coat pocket, moving to leave. Peter realized he needed to leave just a second too late and by the time his feet hit the alley, he’d been spotted.

“Peter?” Neal called. Peter froze, busted. His back stiffened as he turned to face Neal. “What are you doing here?”

“Ummm…”

“You followed me.” It wasn’t a question; the circumstances were clear. There was no other conclusion to be drawn.

“Well…”

“Why?”

Peter met Neal’s eyes then and saw nothing but hurt and betrayal there.

“Why, Peter?” he asked again, his tone brittle, posture too rigid.

“I was worried about you.”

“Worried. About me.”

Peter didn’t answer

“What – did you think I was pulling a con?”

“No?” He sounded unsure so he repeated it more strongly. “NO! I thought you were in trouble. And you wouldn’t say anything to me. Or couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure what I thought, but you’ve been acting so strangely lately. What else was I to think?”

“You are such a woman sometimes,” Neal muttered. He walked over to Peter, closing the distance between them in three strides, removed the package from his pocket and thrust it into Peter’s hands. “Here. Open it.”

Peter took it reluctantly and unwrapped the tissue. Inside was a china figurine. He stared at it in his hand, confused.

“It’s the Mouse King from Elizabeth’s Nutcracker collection. It’s the last piece that she needs to complete the set. Moz hooked me up with a collector who would sell it to me. At a highly inflated price, I might add.”

Peter looked up at him finally, an earnest but fearful expression in his eyes. He’d screwed up and he knew it. “I’m sorry. I should’ve had faith in you. Please, please forgive me.”

Neal regarded Peter for a long moment, brows furrowed, and considered what his reaction ought to be. On the one hand, that Peter had jumped to this conclusion after they’d been together for so long should hurt like hell. But on the other hand, to act out so outrageously because of the possibility that Neal could be in trouble bespoke the deep feeling and devotion Peter felt for him. He decided to give Peter the benefit of the doubt and let it drop.

“I forgive you. Now, be careful with that thing, it cost me 300 bucks.”

Peter’s face showed amazement as he gingerly rewrapped the figurine and handed it back. “Really? Wow. Maybe we should insure the collection.” A smile played around Peter’s lips.

“There you go, that’s our retirement – El’s Christmas tchotchkes.”

“You never know. Didn’t they find a bunch of Picassos in a garage somewhere?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the same thing.”

“She’s gonna love it. This is good.”

“She’s going to love this story more.”

Peter’s face fell. “You’re not going to tell her?”

“And give up the opportunity to watch you squirm for this? Not a chance.”

“I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

“OK. No deviled ham for six months.”

“That’s cruel and unusual.”

“They’re my terms. Take it or leave it.”

“Are you open for negotiation?”

“Maybe. Start talking.”

\----

Thank you for your time. I wish you joy, happiness and deviled ham in this holiday season.

 **A/N:** [Nude Descending a Staircase](http://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/51449.html?mulR=26650) (No. 2) by Marcel Duchamp is perhaps one of my favorite paintings evah, and on permanent display at the Philadelphia Art Museum. I can sit and stare at it for hours… Anyway, if you are ever in Philly, I encourage you to visit.


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